Blind: Path of the Prince
by Tycho
Summary: Severus finds a young blind girl and restores her sight for a price! Contains HBP spoilers. Chapter 6 up 22nd October
1. Cures and Promises

Platform nine and three-quarters was full of hurrying children and more sedate adults. Chaos in a sea of madness. A sea that parted easily for a tall figure in dark robes. He strode down the platform with a speed and surety that implied both competence and danger. He ignored the nervous twitches and looks of outright fear shot his way, other more important things occupied his mind. Like how much of a waste of time this was. Severus fumed. "Superstitious peasants! Smallest hint of a bloody rumour and they go scurrying. 'The Dark is coming! The Dark is coming!' Some fool drunk in the Cauldron probably just noticed that the sun went down. Chicken bloody Little."

A nearby boy in Ravenclaw robes squawked at this and scampered away in terror. Severus gritted his teeth, leaned against a nearby wall and counted to ten. And then continued his rant. "Seven years dead and they still cower at his name. 'Professor Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore! Please protect our darling ickle children!' Idiots! Like the Dark Lord would ever even consider attacking children! There's no faster way to become hated...ow!" Something slapped against his shin.

"Sorry, sir!" The perpetrator's voice was young and female. Severus' favourite! Especially over a slow flame.

"You will be! Can't you see where you're going?"

"I'm blind, sir."

Severus frowned, confused. Blindness was extremely rare in the wizarding world. Most forms of it could be cured, either by charm, potion or prosthetic. It was really only Muggles who had a problem with such a basic disability. He studied the young girl, trying to determine her origins. She stood about waist high and couldn't have been more than seven years old. Bushy brown hair framed a cherub like face above an outfit that could only be called ... i>cute. /i> But most noticeable were the overly large pair of dark glasses hiding her face. Severus grimaced. A Muggle-born. But apparently a very powerful one. Only a child whose magic was already active could penetrate the barrier leading to the platform. She would one day be a great asset to whichever house snapped her up. And he intended for it to be Slytherin.

"I'm sorry sir, but could you help me? I've lost my parents. We were supposed to meet my gran on platform 9..."

"Be quiet child. I will help you find your parents, on the condition that you answer my questions."

A smile lit up her face. "Thank you, sir!"

"Indeed. Now, how long have you been blind?"

"Since I was a baby. There was an accident."

"I see. Your corneas were probably scarred. I suppose the ... doctors...were unable to help you at all?"

"No, sir. I'll never see. Mummy cries about that sometimes." Her lip quivered.

The tiniest tug on Severus' heart made itself known. Pity. An abhorrent emotion. He banished it. "And what would you do? To be able to see? What price would you pay?"

The girl froze. Severus could almost hear the thoughts careening inside her head. She, unlike him, had no true idea of the meaning of cost, nor consequence. But of what she did know, how much would she be willing to give up? Soon he had his answer. She removed her glasses and faced him directly, her unseeing eyes boring into his. "Whatever it takes."

Severus' answering grin was almost predatory in nature. She would make a fine Slytherin. "Then you shall see. Wait right here. I shall be back in a few minutes." And with a crack he was gone.

-----------------

I've lived in darkness all my life. I've never seen the sky. Or a tree. Or my mother's face. I know what they feel like - the texture, the shape, the weight. But I still don't know what they look like. Doctors have been looking into my eyes since the accident, but I've yet to look out of them. I remember the words they used. Maybe. Possibly. Never. Not one of them was sure of himself, unless they were saying no. Not like _him_. He didn't ask to try. He didn't say maybe. He _knows_! I will see!

But at what price? Well, whatever it is I will pay it, even if it's...well I'm not sure exactly what. I just know that Mum and Dad warned me about strange men. And I think this one is stranger than most. There is a sudden crack, like the one made when he left, and suddenly he's back. See what I mean about strange?

"Here drink this." A small glass tube is pressed into my hand, warm to the touch. From his hands or the contents?

"What is it?"

"A numbing potion. For a few minutes the pain receptors in your brain will cease to function. I will then administer a healing wash to your eyes. Now drink."

The tone in his voice is like Dad's after I've been asking too many questions. I really don't want to make him angry, so I drink. Two swallows and it's gone, leaving only mint and a pleasant coolness that fills my head. Then my head is being tipped back, a finger under my chin, and warm liquid washes over my eyes, first the left, then the right. It... tingles. The liquid cools as it runs down my cheeks and neck where it soaks into my blouse. I can feel his hand now resting over my eyes. "Blink rapidly," he says.

Stars explode! Or at least I think they're stars. Lots of pinpricks of something. Light? And each is different. Is that what they mean by colour? I try to focus, to see them better, but they disappear too quickly. They fade away, and all that is left is darkness. I slowly stop blinking. But it is a different darkness to what I know. It is ... warm. There are places where the darkness is different. Lighter? And what colour? is that? Hundreds of questions burst in my mind. And are silenced: "I'm going to slowly remove my hand, allow your eyes to adjust, then tell me what you see."

His hand shifts, his fingers moving, separating. Light stabs in, and I squint in reflex. A reflex I didn't know I had. The pain dims, and with it the light. I can see more clearly now..._I can see!_ As his hand moves away, I look upon my saviour for the first time, but I find it difficult to reconcile what my eyes see with what my fingertips know. My fingers know the shape of a nose, the ridge of a brow but my eyes do not. So I reach out.

My fingers find the line of his jaw first, then up to his mouth followed by his nose. His nose is larger than some, and hooked, but hardly ugly. There is no need to feel further, I can figure out the rest: eyes, brow, ears, hair. I am drawn back to those eyes as the brows above them draw closer together. They are deep and dark, much like the darkness he just rescued me from. A weird idea comes to me, that he is also caught in some darkness, waiting for someone to come and pull him out of it. I make a promise. A solemn vow, as Daddy says. Whatever price he asks of me today, I will do anything to save him in return. For making me happy, he should be happy too.

He stands up and I realise for the first time just how much taller adults are than children. How do they get around with out trampling us underfoot? To notice someone as small as myself and go out of his way to help me was a miracle of the first order. I'm so grateful I can't speak. All I can do is step forward, wrap my arms around his middle and hug him for all I'm worth. I find myself whispering "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you" over and over. It isn't long before he's prying my arms away and stepping back.

"That will be enough of that, Miss...?" he says sternly.

"Hermione Granger, sir." I hold out hope that he will tell me his name.

"Do you believe in magic, Miss Granger?"

There is only one answer I can give. Only one answer that can explain the miracle that just happened. For years my parents have read tales of sorcery and magic to me and were amazed that I was so willing to believe that they could be true. Only one answer. "Yes."

--------------

"As well you should." Severus unconsciously drew himself up imperiously, gathering his robes about and folding his arms. "I am Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A school which, your parents willing, you will be attending in some few short years. You, Miss Granger are a witch, and quite a powerful one at that if I'm not mistaken."

"Me?" The smile that graced the girl's features told Severus all he needed to know. Already she was thinking ahead to the possibilities that lay in her future.

"Indeed. And I shall do everything in my power to see that you reach your potential. Providing you pay for your debt to me."

For a moment, the girl looked ready to bolt. Then she steeled herself and asked, "What must I do?"

Ever so briefly, Severus was tempted to smile benevolently at her, as Professor McGonagall would have done. But it had been drilled into him from an early age that such facial expressions were not in his repertoire. Leers, smirks and maniacal grins - yes. Anything else? Not a chance. So he remained aloof. "Students at Hogwarts are divided into four houses through the use of a magical hat. It is said by the fanciful that the Sorting Hat looks into your heart to determine which house would best suit your temperament and abilities. Whether or not this is true I do not know, nor do I particularly care. What I do know is that the Hat can be persuaded. Upon your sorting you shall convince the Hat to place you in Slytherin House. MY house. Is that clear?"

The girl seemed puzzled, but nodded anyway. "Yes, sir. That Sorting Hat will put me in Slytherin House." She paused, then asked, "May I ask how this pays the debt? It seems very little for all you've done for me."

For the first time in his years of teaching, Severus felt something like pride. And she wasn't even one of his students yet! To see straight to the heart of the matter at such a young age! Not even Malfoy's brat could do that! "As I told you, Miss Granger, you shall be quite a powerful witch. And should you come from my house your achievements will enhance my standing considerably. As I train and guide you, so your successes reflect upon me. Do you understand?"

Granger's smile was almost blinding. "Oh, yes, sir!"

Severus dispelled that smile with his answering scowl. "Should you fail me, however, there will be consequences. This is no miracle cure, Miss Granger, it will not last forever. By my estimation, sometime shortly after you graduate you will awaken one morning to find that you are once again blind. Come to me then and, if you have done well, you shall see again. However if you disappoint me..." Severus let the threat hang there.

The girl's smile had faded and been replaced by a somewhat fearful expression. Considering that Severus had just threatened to revoke the greatest gift of her life, fear was appropriate. The true test would lie in how she responded. Solemnly the girl said, "I won't fail you." Severus had seen less sincerity in others taking magically binding oaths. When faced with an obligation, a true Slytherin met it in full and honourably. Although if he could play it to his advantage he would. The girl would do well.

Severus hesitated a moment, then held out his hand to the girl. "Come then, let us find your parents."


	2. A Knock at the Door

Narcissa Malfoy nee Black was scheming. She needed to find some way to protect her beloved and only son from his father's fate should the unthinkable happen and the Dark Lord lose this war. But despite having been married to Lucius Malfoy for nearly twenty years, she simply didn't have the aptitude for a plot of this magnitude. Narcissa had considered finding someone with more skill and influence in such matters, but there were few she could trust. Even her own sister would turn her in to the Dark Lord should she know of Narcissa's doubt in Him. The only reason Bellatrix had not done so a year ago was because the Vow had given her the perfect opportunity to fully test Severus' commitment to the Cause. Now there would be no hesitation - sister or no. The only person she could possibly trust with this was Severus and even that was dangerous. Her son already owed him his life once... no. She could not ask him again. Besides, since the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Severus was now Britain's most wanted criminal after the Dark Lord himself. He no longer held any influence at all among the Dark Lord's opponents.

Narcissa sighed in despair. Short of kneeling before Potter himself and begging for the slim chance of mercy, there was no possible way for Draco to survive the Dark Lord's defeat. Assuming that Voldemort didn't kill him first, for being weak.

Little did Narcissa know that Draco was truly his father's son and had his own plans.

------------------------

The sneer on Draco's face was automatic as he took in the appearance of his destination. He wasn't sure what was worse - that it looked so very Muggle or that it looked exactly the same as every other house in the street. He checked once more that he had the right address from page he'd torn from that book in the Muggle library - the one with all the addresses and strange numbers. There was no doubt about it. This was the place. It was here that his path to salvation would begin.

Draco stepped up and rang the small brass bell hanging by the door.

A few minutes later, he rang it again. And again a few minutes after that. Draco was beginning to become annoyed. His godfather had told him that salvation would be long in coming but this was ridiculous. He raised his hand to ring it for a fourth time when he heard a girl's voice from the other side of the door.

"Hold on a bloody minute will you?" A moment later the same terse voice asked, "Who is it?"

Draco intended to answer in a like manner, but on the verge of speaking he stopped. And then with a sigh, he merely said resignedly, "Draco Malfoy."

There was a pause, and then before he could blink, Draco found that not only had the door been opened, but there was a wand tip not an inch from his nose. The owner of the wand was a young woman in a forest green bathrobe with a matching towel wrapped around her head like a turban. If not for the anger evident in her features and the seriousness of the situation, Draco would have found the sight rather funny. As she spoke, her voice had that low and deadly quality he'd sometimes heard from his godfather. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't hex you into the next world and turn your remains over to the Aurors." Draco realised for the first time that this was not a witch to be messed with.

For once the young Slytherin did not dissemble, exaggerate or give into self aggrandisement. He laid it out straight, a tactic that probably saved his life. "I need your help."

Draco mentally congratulated himself on temporarily rendering Granger speechless. But it didn't last long. "Give me your wand," she demanded, her left hand extended imperiously.

"A Malfoy never surrenders his wand... to anyone. No true pureblood would."

Hermione smiled grimly. "You have a choice, Draco. You can either hand it over to me voluntarily and I'll listen to what you have to say, or I'll take it from you and give it to the Aurors along with your worthless carcass."

"And how do I know that you won't just hand me over to them once you have it?" Draco demanded, "You obviously don't trust me, how can I trust you?"

"Two reasons, Draco. First - you have no other option. You came to me, remember?" And then Hermione smirked, as if what she were about to say were the very height of irony. "And secondly - Gryffindors are known for keeping their promises."

Draco weighed up his options and grudgingly admitted that Granger was right. He had no choice. Draco just hoped that his father never learned of this. "Very well."

Draco reached into his robes for his wand with a cautionary "Slowly, now," from Granger. There was a peculiar sensation of _something_ passing between them as he placed his wand into Granger's outstretched hand. She must have felt it also as he witnessed her brow furrow in puzzlement before that smirk returned. Draco decided that the expression looked decidedly odd on her. Almost as if she was someone else altogether from the girl he knew.

Hermione tucked Draco's wand into a pocket of her robe keeping her wand trained on him. "After you," she instructed, "At the end of the hall on the right you'll find the living room. There are two armchairs within; you will take the one on the far side."

Draco hesitated for just a heartbeat, and then moved past her, his shoulders tensing with the thought of her wand at his unprotected back. He didn't like it, but he understood why - never turn your back on an enemy. Unknown to Draco, Hermione had a second reason for wanting him in front of her. With Draco leading the way, he could not see how she let her free hand trail along the wall, nor did he see as he crossed the living room to his chair how she narrowly avoided stumbling around the side table just inside the door. All Draco saw, once he sat down, was a self-assured young witch; fully in control of the situation.

Hermione called out, "Dobby!"  



	3. Cinderella Man Pt I

"Dobby!"

The house-elf appeared by the coffee table in the centre of the room with a sharp crack, facing his new mistress. With the death of Dumbledore, Dobby had found himself in need of a new employer. Initially, that had been Harry, but recent changes in Hermione's circumstances had prompted Harry to transfer Dobby over to Hermione.

There had been some disagreement between the two at first, with Dobby wanting to call her by one of several long and... descriptive names. Hermione, on the other hand, had tried to convince him that using her name would not be disrespectful. Eventually they had compromised on the simplest and most traditional of titles, although Hermione suspected that Dobby used one of his own names in the privacy of his own thoughts.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"It would seem I have a guest, Dobby. Fetch some tea for us, please," Hermione asked him, politely.

Dobby turned to identify his mistress' 'guest'. He quickly spun back around, snarling. Almost spitting out in a venomous hiss he told her, "It is the dark young master! He let _them_ into Hogwarts! Mistress should be calling Harry Potter, not giving him _tea_!"

"I have my reasons, Dobby," Hermione told the elf primly, "And you will do as I have asked. Is that understood?"

Dobby's snarl twisted as he vainly fought his natural inclination to obey. Reluctantly he replied, "Yes, Mistress," And turned to go.

"And Dobby?" Hermione called out after him, "No tricks, now."

Dobby paused, and then continued out muttering invectives under his breath.

"Tricks?" Draco asked, apprehensively. He may be disdainful of elves, but he was also well aware of their power. A house-elf with out the checks of ownership, a free elf, was a worrying concept indeed.

Hermione smiled in what seemed to be satisfaction. "Did you not notice that you seemed to be the victim of rather a large number of pranks over couple of years, Draco? Short-sheeted beds? Shrunk clothing? Dobby spent much of that time getting revenge for your treatment of him while he was in your family's... care."

Draco shot a dark look in the direction the house-elf had gone. "Why that little..."

Hermione let him rant for a while. It would do him good and it never hurt to hear the self-delusions of others - it gave one ammunition for later conversations. She gave him just enough time to incriminate himself in several minor incidents, both at school and during Dobby's tenure at Malfoy manor, and just enough time that the house-elf should just about be ready to serve tea.

Hermione actually wondered at his verbosity. Surely by now most Slytherins had learned to guard their tongues in the presence of others, enemies and allies alike. Was this loose tongue of his an aspect of what had passed between them at the front door? And if so just how powerful was it? And what was the price for her?

Unlike Draco, Hermione had recognised the ancient magic for what it was. She also knew that most in the wizarding world considered it just a formal tradition, the latter part of which was used only by the most orthodox of pureblood families, which could include both the Malfoys and the Blacks. Well _that_ could create quite the wrinkle in her rapidly reforming plans, and in order to counter the potential problem, she would have to reveal that part of reality to Draco far sooner than she would like.

"Oh, do be quiet, Draco," Hermione instructed.

Draco shut his mouth, and then was entirely surprised he had done so. Barely able to hide his indignation, he asked in almost calm tones, "What did you do to me?"

Hermione merely smirked. "Happy Birthday, Draco."

Draco was taken aback. How did this aggravating Mudblood know it was his birthday? He asked again, "What did you do to me? What spell did you cast?"

"It is a magic," Hermione told him, "So ancient that it no longer needs a caster. It has become so ingrained into the traditions and bloodlines of the purebloods that it has taken on a life of its own."

Draco's voice was full of scorn as he interrupted. He may have come seeking an ally, but that didn't mean she was his equal! "And _you_ have made use of this magic? A mere Mu...ggleborn using pureblood magics? I find that hard to believe. This is some kind of trick."

Hermione admonished him, "Careful, Draco, or I'll begin to think that you don't really want my help."

At that moment Dobby reappeared, bearing the tea-tray and forestalling Draco's reply. "The tea is ready, Mistress," he announced, placing it on the coffee table. He picked up the pot to begin serving, but Hermione interrupted him.

"That will be all, Dobby. Draco will serve us." Hermione considered for a moment. Riling Draco further at this point would serve no purpose and give her little pleasure. She arched an eyebrow, "Unless, of course, he wishes otherwise? For old times' sake?" Draco grumbled his choice to serve and Hermione refrained from smirking. Sometimes a little is enough. "Black, two sugars. Dobby, return to your duties but be ready to return shortly." A crack was the only evidence of the house-elf's leaving.

As Draco placed her cup on the side table by her chair, Hermione was grateful that someone had taught the boy at least some manners. In serving her first, she gained the opportunity to feel about for the cup and saucer without revealing her... weakness. By the time Draco returned to his own chair, she was calmly sipping tea from a confidently held cup.

"So what is this magic?" Draco asked, almost demandingly.

Hermione relaxed into what the boys called her 'lecture-mode', but never once forgetting who it was she was talking to. When the explosion came it would be most entertaining. "On the day a wizard is born, the man chosen as his godfather places his own wand in the child's hand as part of the naming ceremony. Most believe it to be merely symbolic. A gesture, if you will, that the child has been accepted into wizarding society. While this is true, it is not the whole truth."

"When the child holds a wand for the first time, a bond is formed between the two, for the child's protection. This ceremony started back in the Dark Ages when witches were burned at the stake and wizards killed by the score. Should the parents die before the child reaches his majority, the godfather is compelled instantly to the child's location, to be reached by any means. That is why Sirius Black knew exactly where Harry was on the night his parents were killed. If he had apparated, instead of using that ridiculous motorcycle of his, history would have played out very differently from what we know."

"Very fascinating," Draco drawled in almost perfect imitation of his father, "But what does that have to do with me?"

"This bond is only half the ceremony. Later in the wizard's life, it is transferred to another, although the godfather retains some small sense of it. If they were ever even aware of it to begin with. The transferral happens on another important date in a young wizard's life - the attaining of his majority. His seventeenth birthday. Tell me, Draco, does your mother have anything special planned for this evening?"

Draco hesitated in revealing that information, but did so warily, curiosity winning out over caution. "Aunt Bellatrix is coming for dinner. Afterwards there will be a small gathering of... friends. Why?"

Hermione smiled in satisfaction. "On a wizard's seventeenth birthday, his mother names his godmother. She will guide him through early adulthood, helping him succeed in his career and securing a wife and family. During the proceedings, and only on that day, as an act of good faith and trust, the wizard surrenders unto his godmother... his wand."

Silence reigned for a time in Hermione's home. As she sipped the last of her tea, she could almost sense the wheels clicking and turning in Draco's head. Quickly the explosion she was waiting for came.

"You're my godmother!"

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last two chapters, your support is much appreciated. Thanks very much to my new beta, Veronica! And 5 points to anyone who spotted the Buffy reference.


	4. Cinderella Man Pt II

"You're my godmother!"

"Deliciously ironic, isn't it?" Hermione couldn't help her smirk this time; she just wished she could see the expression on Draco's face.

Draco launched himself from his seat and began pacing the room. "Fucking catastrophic is what I'd call it. This has got to be some sort of joke. Potter's behind a curtain somewhere giggling his pansy little arse off."

"Language, Draco," Hermione admonished.

"Fuck my language. Do you have any idea what my father would do if he found out? The seventh circle of hell would be paradise by comparison. I'd rather face the Dark Lord's wrath. At least he'd just torture me a little before ending my life. Mother will be apoplectic and Aunt Bella! What Aunt Bella will do to us will make both of us wish for the Longbottoms' fate!"

"I'm so charmed to be part of your little family, Draco," Hermione remarked.

"My family?" Draco questioned in disbelief. "Is that why you did this? To bind my family to you? If you believe for a moment that you will gain any sort of influence with my peers, you are sorely mistaken."

Hermione laughed, "Your peers? Draco, I have no interest in _anything _your peers have to offer. If anything, I should be suspicious of you!"

"Me?"

"Yes. As your godmother, you have almost no obligation to me whatsoever. I, however, am charged with ensuring your successful future. Any Slytherin worth his salt plans three moves ahead. You came here seeking my help? You secured it. Especially if it is what I've deduced it to be."

"My plans," Draco sneered, "involved appealing to that 'better nature' you Gryffindors claim to possess, not binding myself to you for eternity!"

"Hardly eternity, Draco. Just until you're married." Hermione was the very image of innocence.

Draco halted midway across the room. "M... married?"

"Yes, Draco. I told you that earlier, weren't you listening? But that's getting a little far a field. Right now we should be more concerned with seeing to your safety. Which, I assume, is why you are here?"

Draco wasn't sure he could take much more of this. He'd come here seeking to solve one potential problem, and so far had only succeeded in creating a dozen more. Some very near and tangible. And Granger! He'd always known she was smart. Book smart, he'd thought. But the girl sitting across the room barely resembled the one he thought he knew from school. When had she gotten so damned observant? And based off her manipulations of both himself and the servant during that whole tea fiasco, he was beginning to suspect she was somewhat devious as well.

Draco returned to his chair and slumped down into it. "Yes. If the Dark Lord loses this war, I'm almost guaranteed an adjacent cell to my father's. I was hoping you might be able to bend an ear or two to prevent that. After all, the three of you will have saved the wizarding world, they'll grant you almost anything at that point, especially if you can convince... others to do the same."

Hermione knew exactly who he meant. "Hmm, I do have _some_ influence with the boys," she purred. "And I'm almost certain I can convince Katie not to press charges. But what made you believe that I would be more receptive to you than they?"

"Weasley hates me. Flat out hates me. I've given him reason to I suppose, he was an easier target most of the time than you or Potter. And I have no doubt that by now he knows I was behind the poisoning. I fear he'd hex me as soon as look at me."

"And why not ask Harry?" Hermione queried. "He was there on the tower, you know. He saw everything. He knows you didn't truly wish to harm the Headmaster. Why didn't you approach him?"

"I considered it. But the price would be too high."

"Price?"

"Potter would help me, I have no doubt. But in return he would demand the one thing I will not give." Draco leaned forward and spoke with resolution and conviction. "I will not do it. I will not give up Professor Snape. I owe him my life and more - we Malfoys take our debts seriously."

Hermione quashed the sudden need to reassure him; to let him know she had no intention of asking for the head of his Head of House. It would seem that their new bond had gifted - or cursed - her with a fully developed maternal instinct. She quickly changed the direction of the conversation. "So I was the best of a bad lot, was I?" she asked, challengingly.

Draco winced. He should have known that Granger would take being chosen by default as an insult. Time for some flattery and perhaps just a little self-deprecation. "More that you have a penchant for championing lost causes. That dragon in our first year, that beast of a hippogriff in our third. That house-elf club of yours, Potter and Weasley... And what am I, if not a lost cause?"

Hermione smirked in that irritatingly familiar way again. "It would seem that way, wouldn't it? But I wouldn't class you as lost cause, Draco, merely..." she arched one eyebrow, "difficult. I'm confident I can do as you ask. But what are you willing to do for me." Once again Hermione was the picture of innocence, as if she were only asking for a trifling thing.

Draco's curiosity was further piqued. For a Gryffindor, Granger was being awfully cagey. Warily, he replied, "Barring harm to my mother or Professor Snape: whatever it takes."

Having abandoned her teacup the side table during Draco's pacing and ranting to, Hermione was free to steeple her fingers and murmur "Excellent." with a predatory grin. Then she dismissed it as if unimportant, "But we can discuss that later. Right now, I'm more concerned about your immediate safety."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"Well, let's start with the basics. Can I assume you weren't followed here?"

"Of course not," Draco scoffed, "Mother thinks I'm at... a meeting and they think I'm at home. And just to be certain I apparated to three other locations in London first."

"Wizarding or Muggle?"

"Abandoned lots. Why?"

"Well, at least you're learning. The last time you tried sneaking around London, _Harry_ followed you."

"You're criticising my sneaking abilities? Who made the fool of herself trying to pry information out of Borgin?"

"I was trying to warn you off, you nit, without giving the game away to Harry. You should have realised then that someone was onto you, but considering that you ignored Professor Snape's warning at that horrid party that we knew I suppose a more subtle warning from me was bound to go unnoticed."

Draco was angry and confused. "What do you care? And how do you know about that conversation anyway?"

"After the incident at the Department of Mysteries, I had no desire to see anyone hurt, not even you. I could just tell that whatever you were up to was going to end badly for everyone." Hermione shrugged. "And as for your _private_ conversation? Harry has a habit of listening at keyholes."

"That bast..."

Hermione cut off another potential tirade. "Regardless of Harry's ethics, or lack of them, I'm satisfied that you weren't followed. Now shall we move on?" She didn't wait for him to respond. "Next is how to deal with your Aunt tonight. I'm assuming that you were to be her first godchild?"

"Yes. Azkaban escapees aren't generally considered good role models," Draco replied snidely.

"Good, then can I also assume that you've mastered silent spellcasting by now?" Draco nodded and after a moment Hermione took his lack of verbal reply as an affirmative. "Then all you have to do is apply a slight warming charm as you pass her your wand and act a little more generously to her suggestions over the next day or two. Nothing too overt, mind, don't make her suspicious or think that you're weak willed. And for Merlin's sake keep her out of your mind!"

Draco blinked in surprise. He'd suspected a little deviousness in her nature earlier but this was something else! But now she was speaking again and it took a moment for his mind to catch up. The mention of the Dark Lord's name caused an automatic reaction - "Don't say his name!"

Hermione sniffed. "You-Know-Who, then. Can I assume that you're still on his shit list?"

With all the other shocks that had come his way this day, Draco just let the crudity coming from the mouth of the Gryffindor Prefect go. "Let's just say that my godfather has been using his influence to keep me relatively unscathed. Out of sight, out of mind and all that."

Hermione considered this. "Then perhaps he and I need to have a chat..."

Whatever else Hermione had intended to say, it was lost was as Draco jumped to his feet and snapped, "Damn it, Granger! I told you: I won't give him up!"

Of all the reactions to his outburst, Draco received only one that he expected: initial shock. It was the following delighted laughter that confused him.

--------

A/N: Thanks again to Veronica for being a great and patient beta, and to all of you for your reviews. Well no one got the Buffy reference, so no points for anybody. I paraphrased a line from the Master in the episode "Angel"- Master: I am weary, and their deaths will bring me little joy. (Darla kills the Three) Of course, sometimes a little is enough.


	5. There

Hermione Granger was laughing and it irked Draco to no end. Her head was thrown back in mirth and all Draco could think was that his earlier suspicions were well founded: he was the butt of some huge and apparently hilarious joke.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked her.

Hermione didn't respond, but just kept laughing.

"What's so bloody funny?" Draco shouted.

But Hermione was oblivious to his anger. Draco crossed the room in three quick strides, seized her by the shoulders and hauled her out of the chair. He was about to shout at her again when he noticed two things simultaneously: the house was suddenly deathly quiet and the point of a wand was pressing into his groin.

Draco carefully released his grip and took a step back, removing his crotch from the line of fire. Once he had, he was able to take a better look at his new godmother. Draco was stunned. She looked… dangerous. And her eyes! Full of fire and yet somehow unfocused, as if she were looking straight through him. It was… creepy.

When she spoke it was in that low, deadly tone that reminded him of Professor Snape. "Do not manhandle me again, Draco, or godson or not, the Malfoy line shall end with you. Have I made myself clear?"

Draco was quick to respond, despite his attempt to act nonchalant. His "Okay" was only slightly more dignified than a squeak.

She resumed her seat, deciding to be magnanimous. "I will forgive you this time, Draco, considering the circumstances. But do not let it happen again." Her tone brooked no opposition.

"It's not funny." Draco was trying to regain control of the conversation, but instead found that he was sounding more like the petulant child he'd once been.

"No, I suppose from your perspective it isn't. But you must realize that I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing at the capriciousness of fate." Hermione smirked at the irony of that statement. She was no Lavender Brown, after all. "For the last week I have been racking my brains without success to find a way to contact Professor Snape without endangering either one of us. I have not been able to determine a single viable method that would not result in my death at the hands of your… compatriots, or in Professor Snape's arrest."

Then she waved a hand in his direction, smiling like the cat that got a whole flock of canaries. "And here you are, dropping practically into my lap. How could I not find that funny?"

Draco snorted. "I don't believe in fate. Nor do I believe that you don't want to see Professor Snape punished. And there's nothing you can say or do that will make me believe otherwise."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, then, quite calmly she did something rather odd. She bowed her head and placed her palms together as if in prayer, with her wand held between them so that the tip extended through her fingertips to touch her forehead. "I take oath on my wand that I wish no harm to come to Severus Snape for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, nor for any other crime he has so far committed in the service of Lord Voldemort. Should I be found to have lied in this matter or be proven false, may my wand shatter and be rendered forever useless."

Draco was stunned. Short of an Unbreakable Vow, Granger had just taken the most powerful oath known to wizard. Only one thought ran through his mind, and it jumped from his lips before he could stop it. "Why?"

It was some time before Hermione gave her answer. She smiled softly, "For the same reasons I've been trying to find him: I owe him. Even more than you do."

"I owe him my very life. What more could you possibly…"

"Everything that I am and more," Hermione interrupted him. Now that she had found her way, she was anxious to begin. "I also need to apologise and explain my failure to pay that debt. And finally, I need to ask him for another favour."

"You're doomed," Draco told her, far more frankly than he'd intended. He scowled at the effect their new bond was having on him.

Hermione merely said, "Perhaps."

"No 'perhaps' about it. You. Are. Doomed. If he doesn't slam the door in your face you should count yourself lucky! There is no way a mere Gryffindor like you could ever outmanoeuvre the Head of Slytherin."

She arched an eyebrow. "We'll see." And with that, Hermione stood, raised her wand and transfigured her bathrobe into the more conventional variety - a simple forest green dress of elegant cut made from closely woven cotton. Then she summoned Dobby again.

"Fetch my travelling cloak and a suitable pair of shoes," Hermione instructed upon the house-elf's arrival.

"Yes, Mistress." There was something rather odd about his manner and voice, something… repressed. Hermione suspected she knew what it was.

Draco interrupted her musing. "Are you going somewhere?"

Hermione resumed her seat and removed the towel from about her head. While using her wand to manipulate the still damp mass commonly known as her hair into a French braid, she explained patiently, as she would to a young child or Ron, "We are going to pay a visit to your godfather. While we are there, we shall see to your safety and future and deal with my little problem. We discussed this. You are going to take us there."

"Impossible."

Hermione irritably finished off the braid with a flourish. "Draco, I took Oath. What can you possibly be objecting to now?"

Draco shrugged and was finally able to deliver a smirk of his own. "I have no objections. I simply have no idea where he is," he told her smugly. It felt good to gain the advantage.

Unfortunately, that very smugness gave him away. "But you know someone who does, don't you?"

"Maybe." Draco's sense of superiority was rapidly fading, rather like the time he was caught nicking biscuits from the pantry.

It took Hermione barely a heartbeat to figure out who knew Snape's location. "You know, I don't believe your mother and I were ever formally introduced. I think it's about time that changed, don't you?"

Draco reluctantly agreed. By now a snickering Dobby had returned with Hermione's cloak and shoes. As she took hold of the shoes to put them on, Hermione gave an instruction to Draco, "There's a bathroom down the hall on the right. I think you should go have a look in the mirror."

"Why?"

"It would seem that Dobby disregarded my warning." She returned his wand. "Go clean up while I discuss the repercussions with him."

Draco was halfway to the hall before he realised what was happening. Between Granger manipulating him with that damnable bond and the house-elf pranking him, he was not having a good day. He shot both of them a dark look that went completely unnoticed, and then went in search of a mirror. When he found it, he discovered that his once platinum hair was now a riot of at least six different colours and his eyes would better suit a Gryffindor: one red and one gold. Muttering darkly, he set about restoring his good looks.

Draco couldn't help but wonder just how the creature had expected to get away with it…

Upon his return to the living room, Draco found a fully dressed Hermione and a much chastened house-elf who, after prompting from his mistress, began to apologise, albeit insincerely, "I is sorry for playing nasty tricks on the dark young master. Dobby will not be doing that again in this house."

With a sneer of disdain, Draco replied, "See that you don't."

Then, with a look of reproach that Hermione appeared to ignore, Dobby Disapparated.

"I hope you gave him a suitable punishment. Beat himself senseless? Knot his ears?"

"I docked his pay for three months."

"Is that all? I realise you have a soft spot for his kind but really!"

"For a creature as contrary to the nature of his species as Dobby is, forcing him to adhere to that nature is the worst punishment he can get."

Draco snorted in derision.

"I can see you don't believe me. Every creature has its own antithesis. Take your father, for example. With the Dementors missing from Azkaban, his situation must be almost bearable. But consider, for a moment, if instead of Azkaban he, the paragon of pureblood values that he is, were sentenced to live among Muggles as one of them."

Draco shuddered. To live among Muggles? "I get your point."

There was that smirk again. "I thought you might. Now, shall we be going?"

By now Draco was resigned to aiding Hermione in the search for his godfather. He stepped up next to her and told her, "Take hold and I'll Apparate us. I'll be taking us directly to my sitting room, as I don't dare risk you being seen in the more public areas of the house."

Hermione took hold of his arm, but Draco did not notice how blindly she reached for him. He was far too busy concentrating on his first attempt at side-along Apparition. For Hermione, it felt very much as Harry had described it to her – a feeling of intense pressure, as though she were being forced through a very tight rubber tube, twice as intensely as solo Apparition. But for Draco it felt somewhat different. Instead he felt as though he were in the depths of some bottomless ocean, struggling to reach the surface but being held back by some great weight.

Then suddenly they were there! They both reflexively took a great lungful of precious air and while thinking same thing – _'Never again if I can help it!'_ Draco took quick stock of his person, making sure everything was still where it should be. Splinching in his precarious legal position was the last thing he needed. Once he was confident that he was still intact, Draco became aware that Granger was still clasping his arm. With a smirk he told her, "You can let go now, Granger." Hermione jerked her hand away as though burned and Draco chuckled as his sense of superiority returned. Being on home ground gave him a serious advantage.

Of course, home ground advantage counted for naught when it came to dealing with his mother. Somehow she always seemed to be able to see through his schemes or, at the very least, know that he was scheming. Narcissa Malfoy didn't always know what her son was up to, but she always knew _when_ he was up something and it never took too long for her to figure it out. The best Draco could hope for was to hide Granger's new godparenting status from her. Should _that_ be discovered, they would both be in serious trouble and Granger could forget any hope of seeing Professor Snape. She'd be lucky to get out with her skin intact.

They'd stood still long enough, metaphorically speaking. It was time to get things moving. "Well, Granger. Take a seat and wait here while I go and prevail upon Mother to grant you an audience." Draco moved toward the door that lead to the rest of the house, and then paused, as if something had only just occurred to him. Of course, it was something that had been worrying him since he'd agreed to this mad excursion. "Oh, and Granger? When Mother and I return there will be no mention of godparents, my birthday or ancient magics of any kind, understand?"

Hermione's nervous look abated some as she replied, "As long as you understand that if anyone comes through that door other than you and your mother, then I'm out of here, and I'll make sure certain people know exactly where you've been for the last hour. Are we agreed?" That was a crucial point. It would be pointless informing the Aurors that one of their Most Wanted was actually hiding out at home. They'd already visited the Manor four times since Dumbledore's death and each time they'd found nothing. Letting the other Death Eaters know of his activities was a much more tangible threat. A complete bluff, naturally, but Draco couldn't be sure of that.

Draco inclined his head in assent, "Agreed." He opened the door and exited the room. But before closing the door again, he gave one last instruction, just to frustrate her, "And I'd leave the books alone, if I were you. I'd hate to come back to find that something _nasty_ had happened to you.

He closed the door before she could retort.

Draco wished that he could find some way to lengthen the time between leaving Granger and finding his mother. He needed time to think; to plan and scheme. But sadly the distance between the two was minimal and covered by his long legs all too quickly, regardless of how slowly he walked. Soon he was standing before the broad entrance to the ballroom, where his mother was undoubtedly making preparations for his birthday celebrations. Only one method had come to mind, to convince his mother to listen to Granger and it was a measure of his desperation that he was even considering it.

After all, most Slytherins considered the truth to be a necessary evil at best, to be avoided whenever possible. Although Professor Snape had once mentioned that a true master of the craft could manipulate his prey with nothing but the truth. A curious notion…

Draco paused, and then opened both doors and entered the ballroom.

The scene beyond those doors was a frenzy of activity, or at least as frenzied as the Malfoy household would ever get. Narcissa Malfoy was seated almost regally on a plush chaise lounge in the centre of the room, idly giving instruction to their two remaining house-elves. Draco grimaced at that thought of their small number. Among purebloods, house-elves were yet another method of determining status. Having one of the creatures indicated that a family was financially secure. Two meant abundant wealth and a third was jokingly referred to as having more money than Gringotts.

Draco had recently heard the revised version of that joke: more money than Malfoy. He was not amused by it.

Narcissa's attention shifted from the decorations to her son, causing a smile to grace her lips, betrayed only by a hint of fear that haunted her eyes. "Draco, welcome home. You fared well at the meeting?"

As Draco greeted his mother with a brief kiss on her upturned cheek, the thought occurred to him that it was rather generous of her to give him the opening he needed straight away, so he made good use of it, pretending to drop the pretence. "Come now, Mother. You know as well as I that there was no meeting today. A gift from the Dark Lord: a day free from pain and humiliation. What you really want to know is where I've been for the last three hours."

Narcissa indulged her son, as she was wont to do. "And where have you been, my Son? What have you been up to that you didn't want your poor Mother to know about?"

With an insolent smirk, Draco replied simply, "Why, consorting with the enemy."


	6. And Back Again

Once Draco had closed the sitting room door, Hermione allowed herself to relax somewhat. Not completely, mind; for that would be foolish in the extreme in this house. Just enough so that her shoulders no longer ached from the tension. Just enough so that she could worry less about Draco discovering her blindness and pay more attention to her surroundings.

Hermione wondered what she would have been able to see, had she still possessed the sense for it. In her lifetime she had seen only two pureblood dwellings: the Weasleys and the Blacks. Two families that were almost diametrically opposite on every scale – wealth, politics, philosophy; just to name a few. But Hermione suspected that Malfoy Manor would resemble the residence of neither family. Not the Burrow, due to its sheer _lack_ of opulence, although somehow Hermione knew that even if the Weasleys were the wealthiest people alive, their home would still resemble their current abode. It was a part of who they were.

But Hermione could also not imagine Lucius Malfoy living at Grimmauld Place either. That place was far too oppressive and almost bragged of corruption, even after the big clean up of two years ago. That type of home just didn't fit the sense of style she had perceived of Lucius the few times they had met. She may never agree with his views on anything, but even Hermione had to admit – the man had presence.

The grounds would be covered in sweeping lawns and lush gardens that invited one to stay for eternity. Inside the main house, wealth would be displayed in quality rather than quantity. A number of well chosen masterpieces, both paintings and sculptures, would be scattered about the house in strategic settings for maximum effect. Rich timbers, elegantly carved, for the stairs and banisters rather than gilded marble. Chandeliers of the finest crystal would shower light down on furniture by the best craftsmen. This was a home that she could see the Malfoy patriarch claiming as his own.

The Master Suite would, of course, belong to Lucius, and although Narcissa would have her own rooms, they would not be for her benefit. They would exist so that Lucius could exile her there when he chose. While resembling the rest of the house, these rooms would reflect many of Lucius' more personal interests.

There would be one or two guest suites, for close friends or for those who were to be impressed, but most guests would be lodged in the less opulent guest house elsewhere on the estate. Somewhere there would be a grand ballroom, a state-of-the-art potions laboratory, a vast wine cellar...

Hermione dared not think about the library.

And finally there were Draco's rooms. Hermione guessed that they were on an upper floor to bring him closer to the sky. The boy did love to fly. The rooms would be furnished in much the same manner as the rest of the house, but like his father's, would reflect Draco's own personal tastes. No tacky Quidditch posters like Ron, but perhaps a few mementos of his 'victories'; his broom would hold pride of place over the summer months. Hermione suspected there'd be a box secreted away somewhere containing his more guilty treasures.

Like an empty vial that had once held poison.

Ironically it was Draco's bookshelf that first met Hermione's questing fingertips. He'd been right to warn her off its contents, she could almost feel the darkness oozing from some of them. She wondered if he'd actually read those dread tomes, or if he just owned them for show.

Above the bookcase was a window, so Hermione followed the wall to her left until she located where it cornered, then followed that wall. Her luck seemed to be holding as it was an inner wall and she quickly found the fireplace. _'Now, if I'm right... Ah!'_ Two armchairs sat directly in front of it, angled to face both the fireplace and each other. Hermione checked for a side table and was relieved when she found none. With a little effort she shifted one of the chairs around so that it faced from where she recalled Draco had exited the room.

Hermione then settled herself into the chair to wait, there was little else she could do for now. She closed her eyes and leant her head back, listening to the sounds of the house. While closing her eyes did nothing for her sight, it helped to focus her hearing. At first, the absolute _lack_ of noise unnerved her - she was a city girl by nature, used to the bustle of people and traffic, even in the suburbs. Even Hogwarts had been a constant source of noise, filled with the sounds of ghosts and portraits, students and staff, not to mention the building itself.

But Malfoy Manor was utterly quiet. Hermione found herself tapping her fingers just to hear _something_. Anything but the awful silence. _'Silence of the grave.'_ The line came to her and she shivered as if a cold finger had run up her spine. Just then a lark cried outside the window and Hermione started violently, cursing herself even as she did so. She forced herself to calm and moved her left hand well away from the button that she had attached while Draco had been occupied in her bathroom. It was an emergency Portkey arranged by the Order on her behalf. Snap the threads and she would instantly be whisked away to the Burrow.

Hardly Gringotts, but a useful reference point to Apparate from.

Now there were voices beyond the door and Hermione strained to hear. There were two of them; one she recognised as her godson, the other was female and likely to be Narcissa. Or at least it had better be. Besides, anyone else wouldn't have bothered stopping at the door to give last minute instructions. Bellatrix would have just burst in cursing and hexing, and the few other women Hermione suspected would be welcome in Draco's home wouldn't be in a position to order him to do anything.

As the door opened, Hermione made sure she gave all outward appearance that she was well in control of all her faculties. She stood as Draco and his mother entered the room and waited to be introduced. She did not have to wait long. "Mother, may I introduce my guest, Miss Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn Gryffindor and friend to Harry Potter. Granger, this is my mother."

Hermione started in on the usual pleasantries. Inclining her head slightly and smiling in what she hoped was a polite, yet pleasant manner, she said, "Mrs Malfoy, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, although I wish it could be under better circumstances."

Narcissa was silent for a time before replying, to the point that Hermione became slightly concerned that the woman wasn't sizing her up but was silent because of some slight that Hermione had given. But before long she spoke. "I have often heard your name in these rooms, Miss Granger, although never in a manner that would have suggested that you would one day be visiting them. Draco has spoken of your academic prowess outstripping his own and of your invaluable aid to his rival. But never once has he mentioned your disability."

Hermione was shocked. Ten seconds in a room with this woman and she had already discerned her greatest weakness. Draco, on the other hand, was merely confused. "Disability? Mother, what are you on about?"

"I'm not surprised that you didn't notice, my dear. So few wizards have experience with her affliction, although I must say that she hides it very well."

Draco looked over at Hermione but failed to see what his mother was talking about. "Hides what?"

"Can you not see it, Draco?" Narcissa found the pun amusing. "She is blind."

Draco looked more closely at his godmother as some of the odd things he'd noticed began to fit. That creepy way she had of looking through him. Dobby believing he'd get away with his prank. _'Come to think of it, I haven't seen her do anything,'_ he thought. He hadn't seen her walk about, pick up a tea cup, or even glance at a book. For any complex task that had required sight, she'd successfully directed his attention elsewhere. Draco was forced to agree with his mother - she was very good. And undoubtedly the most deceptive Gryffindor he'd ever met. If not for her parentage, Draco would have suspected she'd been mis-sorted.

Hermione recovered quickly. It was all well and good to protect a secret, provided that one was able to determine its weakness upon discovery. "How did you know, Mrs Malfoy? As you said, the average witch wouldn't notice. So how, or rather _who_ taught you to recognise the signs?"

With an air of superiority, Narcissa deigned to inform her, "Ten years ago I had the opportunity to observe an expert in the home of a friend." There was no need to tell her everything though, so Narcissa shifted the topic back to her guest. "You are good, Miss Granger, but she was better. Have you been blind long?"

"A few weeks, this time." At Narcissa's inquisitive look, the silence of which was almost palpable, Hermione elucidated, "It's a recurring problem."

With a flash of the insight that had brought her to pre-eminence among her peers and secured her position as Lucius' wife, the truth was revealed to her. "And would this recurring problem have anything to do with your presence in my home?"

Hermione let herself give a half smile. Was this the sort of challenging conversation she could have expected had things gone to plan six years ago? She hoped so. "Partly. As I'm sure Draco has told you, he has convinced me to speak up on his behalf should Harry win. In order to do that, two things must occur: Draco must survive the war and I must be in a position of influence at its end. Professor Snape can solve both these problems."

"What does Severus have to do with this?" Narcissa asked nervously. If anyone from the Order of the Phoenix discovered her complicity in the death of Dumbledore, she'd be in almost as much trouble as his killer.

"With your husband in Azkaban, it is the Professor's duty as Draco's godfather to see to his safety," Hermione explained. "And if I'm to have any influence after the war, I can't be seen as Harry Potter's poor little blind friend. Professor Snape is the only one who can cure my... condition."

Narcissa went on the defensive. Sometimes she reacted poorly to things she hadn't anticipated, her visit to Severus last year being evidence of that. "I sympathise, my dear," she said with a distinct lack of sincerity, "but I fail to see..."

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Gryffindors had a reputation for bluntness and a lack of finesse, something that Hermione occasionally enjoyed taking advantage of. "We're both well aware that you know where Professor Snape is. As Draco will tell you, I've already given Wand Oath that I intend him no harm, nor do I intend to use this information to discredit your family any further. In fact, should today go well, then the name Malfoy will shortly become respected once more. All that remains is for you to name your price."

"I admit to knowing no such thing." Narcissa stated firmly. "But assuming for the moment that I had even the vaguest notion of where to begin looking for such a dangerous criminal, only one price could satisfy my efforts and risk: you have already agreed to deliver my son from the Ministry's clutches. For this you will deliver my husband as well."

Exactly as Hermione had expected, but she covered her satisfaction with a frown. "Impossible. I can get Draco off on his youth, the pressure against his family and Harry's testimony that he couldn't go through with it. But your husband fought openly in front of witnesses on You-Know-Who's side in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest. Add to that the facts of his previous implication in both the First Rise and the release of a Basilisk into Hogwarts my second year, through the use of Tom Riddle's _own_ diary? It'll be fifty years before he sees the light of day."

Narcissa felt a small thrill of excitement. With that last statement, the girl had effectively signed Lucius' release. All that remained now were the details and negotiating those could take some time. She summoned the room's other wing backed chair and sat facing the girl, who must have determined Narcissa's intentions from the noise and had resumed her seat. From a distance of just under five feet, Narcissa studied the calm face of her opponent. Obviously, she had intended to open negotiations with that comment and was ready to bargain hard. Impressive for a Gryffindor.

For Hermione's part, she was both anxious and nervous, but she also felt that thrill. Hermione could almost feel time slipping away from her and she worried that there was not much left to waste. Narcissa was proving to be a shrewd and intuitive woman, but would she sense Hermione's need to be on the move? It was a weakness that she could ill afford, so she put aside her worries and doubts. At the same time she smothered her rising excitement. She'd been right, she knew it. Living in Slytherin would have been a constant challenge, proving her worth and abilities to those above her, occasionally bringing one crashing down, all the while constantly on the alert for attacks by those below. How she sometimes wished the Sorting Hat had put her where she belonged.

In the end, an agreement was reached. After a hard half hour of flattery, insults, bribery, blackmail, lies, truths and half-truths; carefully worded promises were made. Within the hour, Narcissa would escort Draco and Hermione to Severus Snape's safe house and leave them there. In return, Draco's first child would meet their newly freed grandfather for the first time on Christmas Day, their first year at Hogwarts.

The best bargains always end with both sides believing they had got the best of the deal.

-----------

Near an hour later, at the end of a cobblestone street in the shadow of an immense chimney, three cloaked and hooded figures appeared. Narcissa had chosen her spot well. Despite the abandoned nature of the area, there was always the chance that someone was watching. From one vantage point, it would appear as if they had just walked around the corner, previously hidden from view by a tall fence. From the other they would never be seen at all. Narcissa had also chosen it so that they wouldn't have to go clambering through that blasted fence again.

As she guided her son and the Granger girl up the street to their destination, she answered Draco's casual query as to their location. Later she would decide that she'd been disoriented by Apparating three people several times over, otherwise she would never have answered his question. "Some abandoned Muggle village." Narcissa didn't bother hiding her contempt for the ruined and boarded up houses surrounding them. "Spinner's End, the street is..." Narcissa didn't finish that sentence. Instead, she turned to look at the girl, who had stopped walking.

"Spinner's End?" Hermione murmured in near disbelief. Then she began to laugh.

Draco shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's the second time today she's done that," he told his mother. "I'm beginning to wonder if she's entirely sane."

"Oh, I'm not mad, Draco," Hermione replied between chuckles. "Or at least, not in the conventional sense. I was just reminded of something my parents used to tell me as a child. 'Mind you don't go near Spinner's End' they'd tell me. Something Dark happened here years ago, something that drove everyone away. Huh, I guess that must have been _his_ doing."

"You can't be serious," Draco scoffed. "This place looks nothing like where you live."

"If you look to the south, you'll see a church steeple tiled in red and brown about five miles away. My home is four streets over. Now do you understand? Since the first day I met him, I've wondered about Professor Snape's home and he was practically on my doorstep the entire time." Hermione chuckled again.

"Hilarious," Draco drawled. "Now can we get going? I don't like being out in the open like this."

That was a sentiment they could all agree to wholeheartedly, and the three quickly made their way to the ramshackle house at the end of the short street; Draco guiding Hermione by the elbow while his mother lead the way. Very shortly they were standing on the step of the dilapidated building, waiting for its owner to answer the door...

Before long the door cracked open and from the shadows peered a single glittering black eye. Despite their cloaked appearances, the door opened wider a moment later to reveal a calm yet wary Severus Snape. "Narcissa, I hope this visit isn't as dire as your last." He turned his head to greet his godson and former pupil, "Draco, Happy Birthday."

Severus faced the last of his visitors, her features hidden in the depths of her cloak's hood. "I've been wondering when I'd see you, Miss Granger."


End file.
